In social ethics these dwellers on the coast ranked low; indeed, their place was amongst the lowest in the scale of tribes. Division either of labour or of the spoils of war was unknown. Each hunted and fought for his own hand alone, while the wife constructed a few rude utensils and performed the duties of a slave. Their system knew neither laws, punishments, nor rewards, and the only services that were wont to be recompensed in any way were those of the medicine-men, whose natural cunning was doubtless as superior to that of the rest as is the case elsewhere. Nevertheless, these leeches seem to have been acquainted with only one remedy. This was to suck with might and main at that portion of the body beneath the surface of which an inward pain was complained of. The marriage ceremony was confined to the obtaining of the consent of the bride's parents. The state of wedlock, however, was considered of some importance in the man, as it conferred on him the right to go to war, and to take part in the councils of the tribe.
Morality, as understood by the more advanced sections of humanity, was at a low ebb. Wedlock was permitted an unnaturally liberal range and licence. Not only was polygamy general, but marriages between brothers and sisters were permitted, although it is related that their occurrence was rather rare. Cases of monogamy, however, were not unknown, and, whenever the opportunity offered, a wife would desert a multi-spoused husband in order to take up her abode with a man who was willing to accept her as his only wife. Conjugal faithlessness was held to be an excusable failing; indeed, on the arrival of the Spaniards, the men would frequently offer their wives to the Europeans in return for some material advantage.
Some evidence of that social equality that is so strongly a characteristic of the tribes of the River Plate is to be met with among the Charrúas. Such chiefs as existed were almost altogether lacking in real power or authority. A leader, as a matter of fact, was elected by the people merely in order to act in cases of emergency, and his chieftainship, held on sufferance, was liable to be taken from him on the coming to the front of a man held more suitable for the post. It is a little curious to find that in so fierce a race private quarrels were not adjusted by means of the crude arms of war that they possessed. These disputes were fought out with the fists, and after a satisfactory exchange of blows the matter was ended for good and all.
Notwithstanding this sensible method of settling their individual differences, the Charrúas were merciless in the wars waged against neighbouring tribes or Spaniards. On the first outbreak of hostilities they were wont to hide their women and children in the woods, after which spies were immediately sent out to locate the position of the enemy. This determined, it was usual to hold a council of war in the evening, and to make a surprise attack at the first glimmerings of dawn. The method of their onslaught was one calculated to terrify. Dashing out of the semi-obscurity, they would make a furious charge, uttering loud cries, the fierceness of which was supposed to be accentuated by means of the warriors striking themselves continually on the mouth.
Women and young children captured in their attacks were taken back as prisoners to the rude encampments of the conquerors, where they afterwards received complete liberty, and became incorporated with the tribe. No quarter, however, was shown to the men of the beaten force. It is said by some of the early European adventurers who came into contact with this fierce race that they were not only wont to scalp their fallen enemies, but that each was accustomed to cut an incision in his own body for every dead foeman whose body lay to the credit of his prowess or cunning. Some doubt, nevertheless, is thrown upon the existence of these habits, although they are affirmed by three rather notable authorities, Barco, Lozano, and Azara. Fortunately for the Spaniards, who discovered in the Charrúas by far the most dreaded enemies that it was their lot to encounter in this part of South America, these Indians were easily turned from a settled purpose or plan of campaign. Thus they would lose many opportunities of pushing home success, halting in an advance in order to celebrate a first victory, and remaining on the ground for the purpose of marking the occasion at length.
The fact that these rude savages should have obtained victories over the Spaniards by means of the crude arms that were known to them speaks wonders for their bravery. Their choice of warlike implements was no whit greater than that enjoyed by the lake-dwellers of the Stone Age. Arrows, spears, clubs, and maces—all these were made up of stone heads and wooden shafts. That which might be termed the characteristic native weapon was the bolas, the pair of stone balls attached to ostrich sinews or to some other contrivance of the kind. These—as remains the case to the present day in other lands—were employed as slings, and, for the purpose of entangling an enemy, were the most dreaded implements of all.
For the purposes of peace as well as for those of war the sole materials available to the Charrúa for the fashioning of implements were stone, wood, bone, and clay. Thus the household equipment was wont to be confined to the most primitive types of knives, saws, punches, hammers, axes, mortars, pestles, and roughly baked pottery. It is certain that they used canoes, since they used to cross over to the islands facing Maldonado, but nothing is known concerning the particular build of these humble craft.
Waged under such circumstances existence knew little glamour. Yet even here certain ceremonial institutions obtained. The women, for example, on attaining to adult age were accustomed to tattoo three stripes upon their faces as a signal of the fact, while the men wore a certain kind of headgear to bear a similar significance. On the death of a male, the warrior was buried with his arms, usually on the summit of a small hill. Later, when the luxury of domestic animals became known, the rites grew more elaborate, and the dead man's horse was usually sacrificed on the grave.
In any case the occasion of a man's death was marked by self-mutilation on the part of his wives and female relatives. These would commence by cutting their fingers, weeping bitterly all the while, and afterwards would take the spear of their deceased relative, and with it would prick themselves in various parts of the body and more especially in the arms, which were frequently pierced through and through. Azara was privileged to witness a number of these painful ceremonies, which must have been carried out with conscientious zeal, since he remarks that of all the adult women that he saw none was without mutilated fingers and numerous scars on the body.
These methods of accentuating sorrow, however, were light when compared with the tortures that adult sons were wont to inflict upon themselves on the loss of their father. It was their duty first of all to hide themselves, fasting, in their huts for two days. This effected, it was customary to point a number of sticks and to transfix the arms with these from the wrist to the shoulder, with an interval of not more than an inch between each. In this porcupine-like condition they proceeded either to a wood or to a hill, bearing in their hands sharpened stakes. By means of these each would dig out a hole in the earth sufficiently deep to cover him to the height of the breast, and in this custom demanded him to remain during a whole night. On the next day the mourners rose up from their uncomfortable holes, and met together in a special hut that was set apart for the ceremonial purposes. Here they pulled the sticks from their arms, and remained for a fortnight, partaking of only the scantiest nourishment. After which they were at liberty to rejoin their comrades, and to resume the comparatively even tenor of their normal existence.
The Charrúas afford one of the rare instances of a race who knew no religion. They neither worshipped a benevolent divinity nor endeavoured to propitiate a malignant spirit. They were, nevertheless, superstitious up to a certain point, and dreaded to leave their huts during the night. There is no doubt that some vague belief in an after-existence must have been implanted in their lowly minds. Although they do not seem ever to have referred openly to the belief, the sole fact of the burial of the dead man's arms in the same grave as the corpse is sufficient proof of their supposition that the weapons would be needed in some half-imagined and dim place beyond. But neither priest nor magician was in their midst to stimulate their wonderings on the point.
The highest degree of science or intellect, as a matter of fact, was represented by the medicine-men with their simple and mistakenly practical remedy. The race had no acquaintance with either music, games, dancing, or with ordinary conversation as understood amongst more civilised beings. In matters of personal adornment the Charrúas were equally unsophisticated. A few ostrich feathers in the hair constituted the beginning and the end of the men's costume; the sole garment of the women was a loin-cloth. Of too dull a temperament to discover even the simplest pleasures that the majority of races contrive to extract from their existence, the sole luxury in which these folk indulged was the bathing in the streams of the country. But this recreation was limited to the midsummer months: during all the other periods of the year they refrained entirely from ablutions.
The point as to whether these benighted Indians were cannibals has never been definitely cleared up. The charge of eating human flesh has been brought against the tribe by a certain number of authorities. It is stated, for instance, that the body of Juan Diaz de Solis, the discoverer of the River Plate and one of the first victims of these warriors, was consumed by the attacking party after his murder. But the evidence is not clear in either this case or in any other of the kind, although it is likely enough that they partook of the taste that was shared by various tribes who inhabited the country to the north. Their ordinary food, in any case, was the flesh of the deer and ostrich, as well as fish. Their meals were frequently demolished in a raw condition, doubtless of necessity, although they understood the means of producing fire by the friction of wood. Vegetable food was unknown to them, but they contrived to produce an intoxicating liquor from the fermentation of wasps' honey mixed with water.
A glance at the more intimate domestic life of these wild possessors of so many strictly negative attributes may well complete a rather desolate picture. The home of the Charrúa was on a par with the remainder of his few belongings. A few branches, stuck into the earth and bent towards a common centre, constituted the foundation; one or two deer-skins placed on top of these formed the superstructure. These dwellings, as a matter of fact, were no more crude than those of the Patagonian natives, and little more so than the huts of the Chaco Indians to the north-west, although the structures of both these latter were—and still remain—thatched with grasses and vegetation in the place of skins. In the case of the Charrúa the inner accommodation was limited to a few square feet; but the confined space sufficed to hold an ordinary member, although if the human units increased unduly, a second hut was erected by the side of the first. For furniture, there were the few crude household implements already mentioned, the weapons of the men, and the deer-skin or two spread upon the ground to serve as couches.
It was in this manner that the Charrúas were accustomed to live when the Spaniards, much to the rage of the original inhabitants, landed upon their shores. From that time onwards their method of existence underwent a change. With the introduction of horses they adopted the habit of riding, and soon became extraordinarily proficient in all equestrian arts, although their natural fleetness of foot suffered inevitably during the process. The cattle that now roamed the Campo in great numbers afforded them ample and easily obtained meals. Indeed, although they may have had some legitimate cause for grievance, the material benefits that the influx from Europe accorded the Indians were enormous.
Yet the hatred with which these fierce warriors of the Campo regarded the white intruders tended with time to increase rather than diminish. As a foe the Indian was far more formidable now than at the time of the first encounters. Behold him on horseback, careering like the wind across the pastures, armed with a deadly iron-tipped lance some fourteen feet in length! For he had obtained the means now to fight the conquistadores with their own weapons, and even his arrows were pointed with metal, although he still retained the homely stone in the case of his ever efficient bolas. Thus he remained, immutably fierce, alternately winning and losing the endless fights, but never conquered nor enslaved for three centuries. At the end of that period, in 1832, came the end of his race, and the small remnant was practically annihilated. The fate of the last four of the Charrúas is pathetically humorous, as illustrating what unsuspected ends a wild community may be made to serve. Two men and two women, the sole survivors of the unconquered warrior tribe, were sent across the ocean to Paris, where they were placed on exhibition, and doubtless proved a profitable investment.
Having concluded with the Charrúas, the remaining aboriginal tribes of Uruguay demand very little space by comparison. There were, nevertheless, half a dozen minor groups that inhabited the other portion of the land that is now Uruguay.
The Yaros Indians occupied a small district on the south-western coast of the country, and were a warlike race whose customs and manner of existence much resembled those of the Charrúas. With this latter race they were on terms of hostility, and only allied themselves with their aboriginal neighbours for the occasional purpose of a joint attack upon the Spaniards. At the beginning of the eighteenth century they were to all intents and purposes exterminated by the more powerful Charrúas, the few survivors joining the ranks of their conquerors.
Little is known of the Bohanes, who occupied the coastal territory to the north of the Yaros. They were likewise enemies of the Charrúas, and in the end suffered partial extermination at the hands of the latter tribe. It is said that a certain number escaped into Paraguay and became absorbed amongst the Guarani inhabitants of the north. It appears certain that, although this insignificant group could not number much more than a hundred families, their language differed entirely from the tongues of the neighbouring tribes.
The Chanas were island-dwellers whose character contrasted rather remarkably with that of the inhabitants of the mainland. When first met with they were occupying the islands in the River Uruguay to the north of the point where the Rio Negro joins the principal stream. A race of peaceable and rather timid folk, they suffered not a little at the hands of the more warlike tribes. Thus, when the Spaniards occupied their native islands, the Yaros endeavoured to obtain a footing on the western coast-line; but, driven from here by the Charrúas, they found shelter in a collection of islets to the south of those that had formed their first abode. They were more or less expert fishers and watermen, and possessed a language of their own. Many of their customs were akin to those of the Guarani Indians. Thus when the bodies of their dead had been buried for a sufficiently long time to lose all flesh, the skeletons would be dug up, painted with grease and ochre, and then entered once again in company with their ancestors. In the case of a dead child it was their custom to place the body in a large earthenware urn which they filled with earth and ochre, covering up the vessel with burnt clay.
The Chanas lent themselves readily to civilisation. Towards the middle of the seventeenth century they became converted to Christianity, and in the beginning the Jesuit mission station of Soriano was peopled almost entirely by members of this tribe. Of an intelligence and temperament infinitely superior to that of the remaining tribes, they mingled freely with the Spaniards after a while, and adopted European manners and customs. The race disappeared eventually merely from the force of absorption by marriage with their civilised neighbours.
The Guenoas existed in the north-western portion of the country, leading a semi-nomadic life. They were to be distinguished from the Indians who dwelt to the south of their territory in that they were amenable to discipline in their natural state. At their head were recognised chiefs, or caciques, who appear to have exercised no little authority. They were endowed, moreover, with a certain amount of superstitious belief, and witch-doctors were to be found among them. They had also learned the art of signalling from a distance by means of bonfires. Although a warlike race, they were far more susceptible than the Charrúas to outside influence. A portion of the tribe eventually found refuge in the Jesuit missions, and the majority of the males took service in the Spanish and Portuguese armies.
The Minuanes occupied a territory to the east of the Guenoas, and in physical appearance, manners, and customs closely resembled the Charrúas, to such an extent, indeed, that the two tribes have frequently been confused by writers. An error of the kind is natural enough, since the two groups were wont to bind themselves in hard-and-fast alliance in order to combat the Spaniards. The Minuanes, however, were a trifle more advanced in some respects than their southern allies. They were accustomed, for instance, to wear loin-cloths, with the frequent addition of a skin flung across the shoulders. Moreover, their hostility towards Europeans was undoubtedly less deep-seated, since the Jesuits succeeded in incorporating them for a while in one of their missions. The majority, it is true, soon returned to their own wild life, but a certain number remained.
The last tribe to be noticed is that of the Arachanes, a people of Guarani origin who lived on the east coast between the ocean and the great Lake Merim. Practically nothing is known of these folk. They were dispersed and exterminated at the commencement of the seventeenth century by the Brazilian mamelukes in the course of their raids from San Paulo.
CHAPTER XII
MONTEVIDEO
Population—Attributes of the city—Situation of the Uruguayan capital—The Cerro—A comparison between the capitals of Argentina and Uruguay—The atmosphere of Montevideo—A city of restful activity—Comparatively recent foundation—Its origin an afterthought—Montevideo in 1727—Homely erections—Progress of the town—Advance effected within the last thirty years—The Uruguayan capital at the beginning of the nineteenth century—Some chronicles of the period—The ubiquity of meat—Dogs and their food—Some curious account of the prevalence of rats—The streets of old Montevideo—Their perils and humours—A comparison between the butchers' bills of the past and of the present—Some unusual uses for sheep—Methods in which the skulls and horns of cattle were employed—Modern Montevideo—The National Museum—An admirable institution—Theatres—Critical Montevidean audiences—Afternoon tea establishments—The Club Uruguay—The English Club—British community in the capital—Its enterprise and philanthropy—The Montevideo Times—A feat in editorship—Hotels—Cabs and public vehicles—The cost of driving.
It may come as a surprise to many to learn that Montevideo, the capital of Uruguay, possesses a population of almost four hundred thousand inhabitants. By no means one of those centres that are remarkable only for population, it holds almost every conceivable attribute of a modern city—from boulevards and imposing public buildings to plazas, statuary, and a remarkably extensive tramway service.
Montevideo is situated at a peculiarly advantageous point on the Uruguayan shore. No student of geography, it is true, could point out the exact limits of so immense a stream as the La Plata. Yet for all practical purposes the capital of the Republic sits just beside this very phenomenon. Thus it may be said that the eastern side of the town faces the ocean, while the southern looks upon the River Plate. To enter more fully into the geographical details of the spot, the chief commercial and governmental districts cover a peninsula that juts well out into the waters, thus forming the eastern extremity of the semicircular bay of the actual port. Upon the ocean side of the peninsula the shore recedes abruptly northwards for a short space, and it is here that lie the pleasant inlets that are not a little famed as pleasure resorts.
At the riverward extremity of the port bay is a landmark that is indelibly associated with Montevideo, whether viewed from sea or land. The famous Cerro is a conical hill, surmounted by a fort that dominates all the surrounding landscape. But of the Cerro, since for various reasons it is a place of importance, more later. The capital itself claims the right to prior notice, and to the rendering of a few introductory facts.
Since the distance between the chief town of either republic only just exceeds a hundred miles, a comparison between Montevideo and Buenos Aires is almost inevitable. Indeed, it has become something of a hobby on the part of the Oriental who has visited the Argentine city, and vice versâ. Fortunately, the comparison can be made without the engendering of bad blood, since to a great extent that which the one town lacks is possessed by the other. Thus, in the first place Montevideo, although astonishingly thriving, is without the hastening crowds and feverish hustle of the city across the waters. Again, although its sheltered bay is yearly accommodating more and larger vessels, the Oriental town is innocent of those many miles of docks teeming throughout with steamers. Yet, on the other hand, it possesses its rocks and shining sands of pleasure that draw the Argentines themselves in shoals across the river.
Indeed, the atmosphere of Montevideo is restful, and at the same time free from the slightest taint of stagnation. Even the more modest thoroughfares are comparatively broad, while the many new avenues are spacious and well planned to a degree. Perhaps the keynote to the town in these respects may be found in the fact that, although the absolute dominion of the priests has long been a thing of the past, the sound of the cathedral and church bells is audible above the hum of the traffic. Even in the ears of the most ardent Protestant the effect is not without its soothing and tranquillising properties.
It is true that there have been some who, deceived by its peaceful appearance, have altogether underrated the actual activity of the city. As a matter of fact, the progress of Montevideo deserves far wider recognition than it has obtained. The town represents something of a babe even amongst the roll of comparatively youthful South American cities. Its foundation, in 1726, indeed, was due to an afterthought, following an expulsion of Portuguese who had landed at the solitary spot and fortified it in the course of one of their later expeditions. Thus Colonia had long afforded a bone of contention between the two nations, and even Maldonado had provided several battlefields ere the present capital was colonised or thought of.
In 1727 the panorama of Montevideo could not well have been an imposing one. At that time the place possessed no more than two buildings of stone, although it could count forty others of hide. But the erections of this homely and odorous material that in the colonial days were made to serve almost every conceivable purpose could have added very little to the æsthetic properties of the budding settlement. Once established, however, the city grew apace, and in due course the natural advantages of its position raised its status to that of the premier urban centre of the land.
But, although Montevideo flourished and increased for rather more than a century and a half, its leap into complete modernism has only been effected within the last thirty years. In this respect it has only followed the example of the important cities of the neighbouring republics. Thus, in 1807, when its ninetieth birthday was marked by the British occupation, the accounts of numerous foreign visitors to the place testify to its primitive state, although all agree that in the main the capital was a pleasant spot.
That the streets of the period were badly paved it is not surprising to hear, since, owing to many obstacles, the art of accurate paving is one of the very last that has filtered through to South America in general. On the other hand, it is admitted that the thoroughfares were well lit. Amongst the more disagreeable peculiarities were some for which the butcher's trade was responsible.
In a country of oxen the superabundance of meat was made only too evident. "Oftentimes," says an English chronicler of the period, "when a particular piece of meat is wanted, the animal is killed, and after cutting out the desired part, without taking off the skin, the remainder of the carcass is thrown to the dogs, or left to rot in the streets." After this the author proceeds to make a startling statement: "Almost every animal is fed on beef: from this circumstance pork and poultry bought casually in the market, and which has not been purposely fattened, are tinctured with a very ancient and beef-like taste." The first part of this piece of information is undoubtedly accurate; but to what extent the latter is the result of imagination or of fact it is perhaps best not to investigate too closely. According to this theory, some of the plainest of joints must have contained in themselves the elements of several courses, with a species of menagerie meal as a consequence!
In any case, it is well known that the effect of this abundant meat diet upon the prowling dogs of the town was to render them savage and dangerous to the casual passer-by, who frequently had to defend himself as best he might from their attacks. The extraordinary prevalence of rats from similar causes is confirmed by other authors, Uruguayan as well as English. The brothers Robertson, who are responsible for such an excellent description of Paraguay at that period, have some curious experiences to relate concerning this visitation. Both received much hospitality at the hands of their Uruguayan friends. "The only drawback," writes one of them, "upon the delightful way in which I now spent my evenings was the necessity of returning home through long, narrow streets so infested with voracious rats as to make it perilous sometimes to face them. There was no police in the town, excepted that provided by the showers of rain, which, at intervals, carried off the heaps of filth from the streets. Around the offal of carrion, vegetables, and stale fruit which in large masses accumulated there, the rats absolutely mustered in legions. If I attempted to pass near these formidable banditti, or to interrupt their meals and orgies, they gnashed their teeth upon me like so many evening [ravening?] wolves ... sometimes I fought my way straight home with my stick; at others I was forced to fly down some cross and narrow path or street, leaving the rats undisturbed masters of the field."
No doubt had a militant vegetarian of the period found his way to Montevideo he might have pointed out many object-lessons in favour of a lesser carnal devotion. On the other hand, it is lamentable that the cheap value at which carcasses were then held has not continued to prevail to this day. To the small population of a hundred years ago meat seemed to grow as easily as grass-blades, and the uses to which it was wont to be put seem astonishing enough in an era of butchers' bills and shilling steaks.
Since until comparatively recent years in the River Plate Provinces mutton has been held unworthy of even a beggar's acceptance, the carcasses of the sheep suffered the most ignominious end of all. Amongst the other means they were made to serve, the animals were driven to the brick-kilns, slaughtered upon the spot, and their bodies flung into the ovens to feed the fires. As for the cattle, their skulls and horns were everywhere. Prepared by the foregoing for revelations of general utility, it is not surprising to read that houses as well as fence-lines were frequently constructed from such tragic material.
Such reminiscences of the past, however, have drawn the trail too far aside from the modern city of Montevideo, where dogs are subject to police regulations, and the rat is scarce, and meat as dear as elsewhere. As for the town itself, it has sprung up afresh, and renewed itself yet once again since the colonial days. Indeed, the sole buildings of importance that remain from the time of the Spanish dominion are the cathedral and Government palace.
The national museum at Montevideo is both well represented and amply stocked. It is a place into which the average foreigner enters with sufficient rarity, which is rather lamentable, since a very varied local education is to be derived from its contents. Uruguayan art, natural history, geology, literature, and historical objects all find a place here. The collection of primitive Indian utensils, and of bolas, the round stones of the slings, is unique. It is said that in the case of the latter, which have been brought together from all districts, almost every species of stone that exists in the country is to be met.
The historical objects here, moreover, are of great interest to one who has followed the fluctuating fortunes of the country. The early uniforms and weapons of the Spaniards, the costumes and long lances of the first struggling national forces, and a host of other exhibits of the kind are assisted by a considerable collection of contemporary local pictures and drawings. Many of the earlier specimens of these are exceedingly crude, but none the less valuable for that, since the battle scenes are depicted with much the same rough vigour that doubtless characterised their actual raging.
In the gallery devoted to Uruguayan painters there is at least one picture that is remarkable for its power and realism, the work of a famous modern artist, representing a scene in the great plague visitation that the capital suffered. It is a little curious that in the rooms where hang the specimens of European art the biblical paintings of some of the old Italian masters should be hung side by side with modern productions of the lightest and most Gallic tendency; but it is quite possible that this may have been done with intention in support of the propaganda against the influence of Church and religion that has now become so marked throughout South America. In any case, the custom is one that does not obtain in Montevideo alone. The taxidermic portion of the museum is exceedingly well contrived, and the entire institution, with its competent staff, under the direction of Professor José Arechavaleta, is worthy of all praise.
With social institutions of all kinds Montevideo is amply provided. The theatres are well constructed, well patronised, and frequently visited by some of the most efficient companies in existence. It is true that, owing to the difference in the size of the two towns, Montevideo usually obtains the tail-end of a visit the most part of which has been spent in Buenos Aires. But such matters of precedence do not in the least affect the merits of the various performances. Both actors and musicians here, moreover, have to deal with an audience that is at least as critical as any that its larger neighbour can provide.
One of the evidences of Montevideo's modernity is to be found in its afternoon-tea establishments. Unfortunately, the name of the principal one of these places has escaped me, so that it must receive its meed of praise in an anonymous fashion. It is certainly one of the daintiest specimens of its kind that can be conceived both as regards decoration and the objects of light sustenance that justify its existence. As a teashop it is a jewel with an appropriate pendant—a tiny coal-black negro boy official at the door, whose gorgeous full-dress porter's uniform renders him a much-admired toy of humanity.
The chief and most imposing of the capital's clubs is the Club Uruguay that looks out upon the Plaza Matriz, the main square. The premises here are spacious and imposing, and the club is quite of the first order. The membership is confined almost entirely to the Uruguayans of the better classes, although it includes a small number of resident foreigners. The English Club is situated on the opposite side of the same square, and is an extremely cosy and well-managed institution that sustains to the full all the traditions of the English clubs abroad.
The English community in the capital is fairly numerous, and is in closer touch with its Uruguayan neighbours than is the case with the majority of such bodies in other South American countries. The enterprise and philanthropy of the colony are evident in many directions. It has long possessed a school and a hospital of its own; but subscriptions have now been raised for the erection of a larger and more modern hospital building, to be situated in pleasant surroundings on the outskirts of the town. A great part of the credit for this, as for many other similar undertakings, is undoubtedly due to Mr. R.J. Kennedy, the British Minister.
The English Colony is represented journalistically by a daily paper, the Montevideo Times, a sheet of comparatively modest dimensions that is very ably edited and conducted. Indeed, the record of Mr. W.H. Denstone, the editor, must be almost unique in the history of journalism all the world over. For a period that, I believe, exceeds twenty years the production, in journalese language, has been "put to bed" beneath his personal supervision, and not a number has appeared the matter of which has not come directly from his hands. As a testimony, not only to industry but to a climate that permits such an unbroken spell of labour, surely the feat is one to be cordially acclaimed in Fleet Street!
The Montevideo hotels, although there is much to be said in their favour, are comparatively modest in size, and somewhat lacking in those most modern attributes that characterise many in other large towns of South America, and even those in the pleasure resorts on the outskirts of the Uruguayan capital itself. The best known is the Lanata, situated in the Plaza Matriz. But I cannot recommend the Lanata with any genuine degree of enthusiasm. The Palacio Florida, a new hotel in the Calle Florida, is, I think, the most confidently to be recommended of any in the capital. The tariff here is strictly moderate, the service good, and the place is blessed with the distinct advantage of a very pleasant lounge on each floor.
In many respects Montevideo, although its scale of expenses is rising rapidly, still remains a place of cheaper existence than Buenos Aires. But not in the matter of its cabs and public vehicles. The hooded victoria of the Argentine capital is frequently replaced here by the landau, and on a provocation that may not have exceeded half a mile the piratical driver will endeavour to extract a dollar—the equivalent of four shillings and twopence—from his victimised passenger. The reason for this ambitious scale of charges no doubt lies in the fact that the Montevidean is very little addicted to driving in cabs, of which vehicles, indeed, the very excellent tramway service of the city renders him more or less independent. Thus, as the solvent person is said to bear the burden of the tailor's bad debts, the economies of those who ride in Montevidean tramcars are visited upon the pockets of those others who patronise the cabs.
CHAPTER XIII
Montevideo—continued
The surroundings of the capital—Pleasant resorts—The Prado—A well-endowed park—Colón—Aspects of the suburbs—Some charming quintas—A wealth of flowers and vegetation—European and tropical blossoms side by side—Orchards and their fruits—The cottages of the peasants—An itinerant merchant—School-children—Methods of education in Uruguay—The choice of a career—Equestrian pupils—The tramway route—Aspect of the village of Colón—Imposing eucalyptus avenues—A country of blue gum—Some characteristics of the place—Flowers and trees—Country houses—The Tea Garden Restaurant—Meals amidst pleasant surrounding—An enterprising establishment—Lunch and its reward—Poçitos and Ramirez—Bathing-places of the Atlantic—Blue waters compared with yellow—Sand and rock—Villa del Cerro—The steam ferry across the bay—A town of mixed buildings—Dwelling-places and their materials—The ubiquitous football—Aspects of the Cerro—Turf and rock—A picturesque fort—Panorama from the summit of the hill—The guardian of the river mouth—The last and the first of the mountains.
The Uruguayan's appreciation of pleasant Nature is made abundantly clear in the surroundings of the capital. The city, as a matter of fact, is set about with quite an exceptional number of pleasant resorts both inland and upon the shore. Of the former the Prado park and the pleasure suburb of Colón are the best known. The Prado is reached within half an hour from the centre of the city by means of tramway-car. Situated on the outskirts of the town, the park is very large and genuinely beautiful. Groves of trees shading grassy slopes, beds of flowers glowing by the sides of ponds and small lakes, walks, drives, and sheltered seats—the place possesses all these commendable attributes, and many beyond.
The Montevidean is very proud of the Prado, and he has sufficient reason for his pride. He has taken a portion of the rolling country, and has made of the mounds and hills the fairest garden imaginable. The place would be remarkable if for nothing more than the great variety and number of its trees, both Northern and subtropical. But here this fine collection forms merely the background for the less lofty palms, bamboos, and all the host of the quainter growths, to say nothing of the flowering shrubs and the land and water blossoms. One may roam for miles in and out of the Prado vegetation, only to find that it continues to present fresh aspects and beauties all the while.
The expedition to Colón is a slightly more serious one, since, the spot being situated some eight miles from the centre of the town, the journey by tramcar occupies an hour or so. As much that is typical of the outskirts of Montevideo is revealed by the excursion, it may be as well to describe it with some detail.
It is only when once fairly launched upon a journey of the kind that the true extent of Montevideo and the length of its plane-shaded avenues proper become evident. Nevertheless, as the car mounts and dips with the undulation of the land, the unbroken streets of houses come to an end at length, giving way to the first quintas—the villas set within their own grounds. The aspect of these alone would suffice to convince the passing stranger of the real wealth of the capital. Of all styles of architecture, from that of the bungalow to the more intricate structure of many pinnacles and eaves, many of them are extremely imposing in size and luxurious to a degree. A moral to the new-comer in Montevideo should certainly be: Own a quinta in the suburbs; or, if you cannot, get to know the owner of a quinta in the suburbs, and stay with him!
But if you would see these surroundings of Montevideo at their very best, it is necessary to journey there in October—the October of the Southern hemisphere, when the sap of the plants is rising to counterbalance its fall in the North. The quintas then are positive haunts of delight—nothing less. Their frontiers are frequently marked by blossoming may, honeysuckle, and rose-hedges, while bougainvillæa, wistaria, and countless other creepers blaze from the walls of the houses themselves.
As for the gardens, they have overflowed into an ordered riot of flower. The most favoured nooks of Madeira, the Midi of France, and Portugal would find it hard to hold their own in the matter of blossoms with this far Southern land. Undoubtedly, one of the most fascinating features here is the mingling of the hardy and homely plants with the exotic. Thus great banks of sweet-scented stock will spread themselves beneath the broad-leaved palms, while the bamboo spears will prick up lightly by the ivy-covered trunk of a Northern tree—a tree whose parasite is to be marked and cherished, for ivy is, in general, as rare in South America as holly, to say nothing of plum-pudding, though it is abundant here. Spreading bushes of lilac mingle their scent with the magnolia, orange, myrtle, and mimosa, until the crowded air seems almost to throb beneath the simultaneous weight of the odours. Then down upon the ground, again, are periwinkles, pansies, and marigolds, rubbing petals with arum-lilies, carnations, hedges of pink geranium, clumps of tree-marguerites, and wide borders of cineraria. From time to time the suggestions of the North are strangely compelling. Thus, when the heavy flower-cones of the horse-chestnut stand out boldly next to the snow-white circles of the elder-tree, with a grove of oaks as a background, it is with something akin to a shock that the succeeding clumps of paraiso and eucalyptus-trees, and the fleshy leaves of the aloe and prickly-pear bring the traveller back to reality and the land of warm sunshine.
But it is time to make an end to this long list of mere growths and blossoms. The others must be left to the imagination, from the green fig-bulbs to the peach-blossom and guelder-roses. Let it suffice to say that a number of these gardens are many acres in extent, and that you may distribute all these flowers—and the far larger number that remain unchronicled—in any order that you will.
As the open country appears in the wider gaps left between the remoter quintas, and the space between the halting-places of the tram is correspondingly lengthened, the speed of a car becomes accelerated to a marked degree. The cottages that now appear at intervals at the side of the road are trim and spotlessly white. They are, almost without exception, shaded by the native ombú-tree, and are surrounded with trelliswork of vines and with fig-trees, while near by are fields of broad beans and the extensive vineyards of commerce.
Along the road a rider is proceeding leisurely, a large wooden pannier jutting out from either side of his saddle. This bulky gear, that lends such a swollen appearance to the advancing combination of man and horse, denotes a travelling merchant of humble status. What he carries within the pair of boxes there is no outward evidence to tell. Their contents may be anything from vegetables or chickens to scissors, knives, or sweetstuffs. Since, however, he has now drawn rein by the side of one of the white cottages, his wares almost certainly do not comprise the first two, for the market for such lies within Montevideo proper. By the time, however, that the lids of the panniers have been raised and the bargaining has commenced the car has sped far onwards, and has dropped him from sight. Thus the business of the travelling merchant—like that of the majority of passers-by—remains but half understood.
But here, at all events, comes a group of riders of another kind, whose purpose is clear. Half a dozen small boys and bareheaded girls, mounted upon disproportionately tall ponies, are jogging along on their way to school. Uruguay prides itself, with no little reason, upon the efficiency of its system of education, and the humblest hut now sends forth its human mites to absorb the three R's and to be instilled with patriotically optimistic versions of their country's past. These rudiments mastered, they need not necessarily halt in their scholastic career, since, according to the laws of the land, a professorship is open eventually to the most lowly student who persists for sufficient time. And Uruguay is undoubtedly a nest of opportunities. An embryo statesman or learned doctor may be represented by each of the urchins who are now plodding onwards with serious intent through the dust!
In the meanwhile the car has won its way fairly out into the open country, always green, smiling, and thickly shot with the pink of peach-blossoms. The rails have now drawn well away from the centre of the road, and are separated from the actual highway by a grassy space. Stirred by the importance of possessing a track all to itself, the car is undoubtedly aspiring to the rank of a railway train, and goes rushing at a really formidable pace upon its verdure-embedded lines. Swaying over the shoulders of the land, past plantations, lanes, and hedges, it plunges onwards in grim earnest to the terminus of the line at Colón itself.
The actual village of Colón gives little indication of the nature of the district. The railway-station, shops, and houses are all pleasantly situated, it is true, and the restaurants and pleasure-gardens are unusually numerous. The attractions of the place, however, lie well outside the central nucleus of buildings. From this some remarkably imposing eucalyptus avenues lead outwards into the favourite haunts of the Montevidean when on pleasure bent.
Undoubtedly the most salient feature of Colón is the eucalyptus. Indeed, the place primarily consists of mile upon mile of these stately avenues, fringed by blue gums of an immense size. Bordering these magnificent highways, that cross each other at right angles, are country houses here and there that are reproductions of those in the suburbs of Montevideo. In between the avenues, again, are clumps and small forests of eucalyptus, whose tops soar high up in tremendously lofty waves, that enclose vineyards, peach-orchards, and olive-tree plantations.
Here and there are lanes walled in by mounting hedges of honeysuckle and rose, while many of the private grounds are guarded by the impassable lines of aloe. Add to this basis all the other trees, shrubs, and flowers that have already been passed on the outward journey, and you have the main attributes of Colón.